


Lights, Camera . . . Action?

by CaramelFog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaramelFog/pseuds/CaramelFog
Summary: When a photo of Harry and Draco embracing is splashed all over the Daily Prophet, their relationship is revealed and the whole wizarding world is inspired by their ability to move on from the war.It's too bad the relationship is doesn't exist.Agreeing to fake it for a while seems like an easy enough plan, until feelings begin to get in the way.





	1. Chapter 1

It all began with a stupid tree root.  
Harry had stepped outside the building for a breath of fresh air. Or perhaps just to escape the crowd of people who seemed to follow his every move. He wasn’t even in the ministry properly, so he wasn’t sure why he had to be invited to all their parties. But Hermione claimed it was important he be present at some, as a figurehead and symbol of peace. People trust Harry Potter, so if he’s photographed shaking hands with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, then they trust the ministry too. Harry thought the many times he fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters by Kingsley’s side should have been enough for the public, but apparently not.  
Harry had completed hours of dutifully shaking hands and awkward small talk. And now he deserved his moment of peace. He could still hear the muffled vibrancy of the party in the house behind him, but the breeze in the chilly London air did much to calm him.  
Until someone else stepped outside too.  
Harry sighed. Here we go, he thought, and prepared to put on his gracious Chosen One voice again. He turned to the person, though it was difficult to assess who it was in darkness.  
Suddenly, Harry saw the figure fly towards him, heading for the ground, so he leapt forward and caught the person. Instinctively, the man grabbed Harry and the two found themselves holding each other, arms wrapped around with the other man’s head on Harry’s shoulder.  
“Oh,” said Harry. “Are you alright?”  
“Of course it was going to be Saint Potter who saved me. You can’t even go to a party without rescuing someone,” the man sniped.  
“Hello Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, but before he could release himself from Malfoy’s hold he saw a flash of bright light. “Oh fuck. Camera.”  
“Ah but Potter, you love the spotlight don’t you?” Malfoy sneered and pulled himself away from Harry’s arms.  
“Shut up Malfoy,” snapped Harry as he surveys the ground. Finding the culprit for Malfoy’s fall Harry groaned. “Tree root.” Then Harry walked past Malfoy and back into the party, selecting the lesser of two evils.  
***  
The following day was Sunday, so Draco had intended to sleep until 10am, when he would be awoken by a house elf delivering tea and scrambled eggs for his breakfast. As per usual. But Draco’s peaceful slumber was ruined by the scratching and squawking of a tawny owl on his bedroom window at the manor.  
“Fuck off,” he mumbled and attempted to go back to sleep, but the owl was insistent. “Alright, alright,” groaned Draco as he climbed out of bed, his peaceful morning successfully ruined.  
He instantly recognised the owl as Pansy’s – it’s feathers were always ruffled in a way that made it look like it had just left a fight and the owl’s eyes stared with a berserk intensity. Draco opened the window and the bird flew in, and he struggled to keep it down long enough to remove the letter. It read:  
‘Draco Darling –  
Have you seen today’s Daily Prophet?  
Do look.  
Pans xx’  
Draco paused in bewilderment for a moment. Pansy worked for the Witch Weekly, not the Daily Prophet. And it was unlikely she was send such a cryptic message for something she had written –  
Oh, thought Draco, his pulse racing as it dawned on him. The photo with Potter. Fuck.  
Draco pulled on his dressing gown and ran downstairs, where he found the newspaper already set in his study. The dark and blurry photo stretched across the front displayed himself and Potter entangled, holding each other in the dark for a moment too long. Next to this, they displayed some photos of the two of them at the function and their clothes were easily identifiable. In large print across the bottom of the photo Draco read ‘Undesirable No. 1 and the desirable one?’  
Draco almost didn’t want to read on, but he knew he was better off equipped with knowledge than fumbling around in the dark.  
‘Spotted at a ministry party last night was hero of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, with his arms wrapped around beau and former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. The two had momentarily left the party, but as soon as Malfoy made his exit, Potter couldn’t resist running towards him and pulling him into an embrace. The pair makes a shocking couple considering their opposing pasts: whilst Potter was a defender of the light, Malfoy remained in his family home with You-Know-Who for much of the Second Wizarding War.  
‘This secret but clearly intimate relationship explains the short-lived relationships of both wizards’ pasts. Potter is primarily remembered for his long-term courtship of Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpies player. Reported to have begun dating in Potter’s sixth year, the couple split as he disappeared from the public eye during the war. The relationship was rekindled, and they remained a celebrity power couple for another two years before publicly calling quits, when the public had been hoping instead for wedding bells, much like the relationship between Potter’s friend and the youngest Weasley’s brother, Ron Weasley in his long-term relationship with another of Potter’s ex-girlfriend’s, Hermione Granger, who he dated briefly during the Triwizard Tournament.  
‘Though he is less often in the limelight that Potter, playboy Malfoy has also had a patchy past, involving various sightings with former Slytherin dormmates, including Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass. Whilst photographs of these couples have taken, there has never been a confirmation of their relationship –‘  
Draco couldn’t bear to read on, as the newspaper article outlined in further detail the roles he and Potter had played during the war and where they had ended up now. Somehow, in the course of a single night they had managed to obtain interviews from so-called friends confirming the Potter-Malfoy relationship, and even public input. He skimmed the article until he reached the final paragraph.  
‘So the question now remains, if Potter and Malfoy can move beyond their war alliances, what does this mean for the wizarding community? And what does the removal of the two most eligible bachelors on the wizard market mean for witches everywhere?’  
He couldn’t believe what drivel had been written, until he reached the author’s name, below the final paragraph: Rita Skeeter.  
Like everything he’d done, the past had a way of coming back to bite him.  
Next to the newspaper, his house elves had prepared a pile of letters. Merlin, he thought as he inhaled the fragrant scent coming from some of the letters. Fan mail.  
Much of the stack was kind words, wishing him and Potter well, telling him that if they could get over their war resentment, then so could everyone else. It was quite uplifting and would have been nice – if only the relationship was real. Some of the mail wasn’t so kind. A few people scolded him for dating a half-blood and a Potter above all, for forgetting himself and what he fought for during the war. Other letters berated him for corrupting the Boy-Who-Lived, claiming Potter deserved peace, not a traitor like Malfoy.  
When he was halfway through his mail, Draco gave up. He went to the fireplace study and flooed directly to Pansy’s Kensington flat. 

He landed in the living room, complete with a selection of trash magazines and overly fragrant flowers on the coffee table.  
“Pansy!” yelled Daphne Greengrass, who shared the flat with Pansy. “Have you seen my pink bra?”  
She wandered into the living room in her towel and smirked when she saw Draco close his eyes.  
“Draco, I’m wearing a towel. Everything’s covered. You’re only lucky Pansy, or should I say your ex-girlfriend, showered this morning. She wouldn’t have been generous enough to wear a towel,” said Daphne.  
She spotted her bra on the couch and dragged Draco by the hand to her bedroom, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed.  
“Close your eyes again, I’m getting changed. And you can explain why you aren’t spending the morning with your boyfriend,” she said cheekily.  
“Oh this is such a nightmare,” groaned Draco.  
“I disagree. It already seems to be doing good for everyone,” Daphne explained.  
“Everyone except me,” responded Draco.  
“That would explain why you’re still in your dressing gown and your hair looks shocking,” said Daphne, fully changed and coming to sit down next to him.  
Draco hadn’t realised that he’d left the house in such a state.  
“Besides,” whispered Daphne into Draco’s ear. “He is pretty handsome, in a rugged sort of way.”  
Draco just flopped down onto the bed.  
Pansy burst into Daphne’s bedroom.  
“Draco darling! My own little boy, all grown up. I completely understand why you felt you couldn’t tell us all about your new man, especially considering the history we have, and that you have with Daphne’s sister, but all the same we are so happy for you!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “By the way,” she added. “Witch Weekly are doing a whole spread on your relationship next week. Emergency meeting Monday morning. I’ve just been informed. I’d love to get the details first hand.”  
“What am I going to do?” asked Draco in despair.  
“Talk to Potter,” suggested Daphne.  
“Get together with him,” suggested Pansy at the same time.  
“What?” exclaimed Draco.  
“Well darling, you’re making the whole wizarding world happy. I keep receiving owls about kind things people have done, apologies made etc etc inspired by you and your hunky boyfriend,” said Pansy. “Besides, he’s perfect for you.”  
“He is not,” argued Draco.  
“And he would say just the same I’m sure. Don’t worry, we’ll be explaining your compatibility in Witch Weekly if you still don’t understand by next week,” said Pansy.  
“Owl Potter and see how he feels before you decide anything,” suggested Daphne once more. She was always the softer and more sensible of the two.  
“Don’t forget to change first darling!” advised Pansy. “Not that it’s nothing he won’t have seen before, but . . .”  
Draco gave her the finger before he flooed back to the manor.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry paced the kitchen. He could barely eat any of the food Kreacher was preparing to make him feel better. Malfoy? Why of all people did it have to be Malfoy? And that wasn’t even beginning to think of the guilt factor. All morning Harry had been swamped with letters, people telling him they were learning from his example, moving on from the war – some even told him how happy they were that he’d finally found love (who ever mentioned love? It wasn’t even snogging!) Harry didn’t know how he’d let the public down gently.  
He took another sip of his coffee when an eagle owl flew into Grimmauld Place and gracefully dropped a letter onto the bench. From the emerald wax seal on the back depicting the writer’s initials in a flourish, Harry could already tell who it was from.  
‘Potter  
We need to talk  
Meet me at Malfoy Manor at 1pm  
DM’  
Harry instantly grabbed the nearest piece of paper and scribbled back.  
‘No way  
Come to 12 Grimmauld Place  
Harry’  
He attached the letter to the leg of the owl and returned to his coffee.

As the hall clock struck 1:00pm, Draco appeared in Harry’s living room fireplace. He swiftly dusted himself off and step out onto the wooden floor as Harry entered the room.  
Draco surveyed his surroundings.  
“The Black family crest?” he asked, gesturing to the motif above the fireplace.  
“I couldn’t get it off,” replied Harry sheepishly.  
“Ah yes. How could I forget. Dear cousin Sirius,” said Draco.  
Harry inhaled deeply and Draco was pleased to see he was irritating Potter.  
“Would you like tea?” strained Harry, attempting to keep his infamous anger in check.  
“Seeing as you insisted on your place, I think tea is the least you could do,” responded Draco curtly, but Kreacher was already entering with a tray.  
“I hardly wanted to chat to your mother as well. One Malfoy is all I can handle each day,” said Harry.  
“My mother lives in France. And Potter? Don’t pretend you understand parental relationships. That’s at least one area the world doesn’t view you as an expert in,” said Draco coolly as he poured tea into his cup.  
Harry huffed to himself.  
“Now onto business,” continued Draco smoothly. “I assume you’ve seen today’s Daily Prophet and amassed fan mail?” Harry nodded. “Well I have received much of the same, and my sources inform me that the wizarding community is already . . . captivated by our supposed union. You and I need to decide the best course of action from here on out.”  
Harry was astounded. He had assumed Malfoy was here to berate him about the photo, not answer the demands of their fans.  
“You . . . you would be prepared to fake it?” Harry stuttered.  
“I had forgotten how Granger did all your work and thinking Potter. What a shame you made me remember. As you can imagine, my friends and I rather dislike being vilified in public constantly. So if this is the price I must pay, then I assume the sacrifice will be worth the result.”  
Harry considered this. It was a small price to improve wizarding relations throughout Britain. He remembered Hermione telling him of a dead cat left on Malfoy’s desk one morning at the ministry and he wondered how often these incidents occurred.  
Dean Thomas suddenly popped into Harry’s fireplace.  
“Oh sorry Harry mate, just wanted to see how you were doing after . . . well, I see that it was true. Neville couldn’t quite believe it, so I told him I’d come and console . . . er . . . chat to you,” said Dean, awkwardly peering at Draco the whole time.  
Harry was unable to speak. He was in a state of shock at the morning’s events, and now even his friends believed he could and was dating Draco Malfoy. Harry cleared his throat, preparing to explain the truth to Dean.  
“No no worries, I get it. I’ll be gone in a second so you can enjoy your morning. I – I just wanted to say that we’re all happy for you, and you deserve this – well, not the bloody article – but . . . well, you know. I’ll spread the word,” said Dean as he pat Harry’s shoulder, then he flooed away as suddenly as he had arrived.  
A long silence followed, as neither of the pair could process the events of the last minute.  
“What. The. FUCK Potter,” finally exclaimed Draco. “You can’t even string together a sentence to your friend?”  
“At least we don’t have to make a decision now?” said Harry sheepishly.  
“No, we just have to look like a couple in front of your friends,” snapped Draco.  
Harry rolled back onto the couch. It appeared he’d ended up with the most difficult fake boyfriend in the whole wizarding world. Where was Voldemort to kill Harry when he needed him?  
“If you want, you could stay for dinner so we can plan. I’ll cook,” suggested Harry.  
“I’m not sure I’d trust anything you made,” said Draco tentatively.  
“I promise, I’m really good. How does homemade pasta sound?” asked Harry.  
For the first time that day, Draco laughed as he nodded and agreed that homemade pasta would be nice.

“Fill out my sheet but tell me the answers,” said Harry as he kneaded the dough on the kitchen bench.  
“What’s the logic in sheets? If you can’t pull out your sheet the next time the Daily Prophet asks you something you can’t answer,” demanded Draco, seated at a bench stool.  
“True, but I can study,” replied Harry. “Plus, it could come in useful one day.”  
“Ah yes, because the next time the wizarding world is in danger the Chosen One can share Draco Malfoy’s favourite ice cream flavour,” taunted Draco.  
“Well, what is it?” asked Harry.  
“Mint generally. Very refreshing. Though I do enjoy matcha as well. Oh stop being demanding, I’m about to fill it out,” said Draco. “Yours?”  
“Vanilla,” replied Harry.  
“Boring,” said Draco.  
“I’m a simple man,” stated Harry, outstretching his floured hands for a moment, before returning to his cooking.  
“Certainly simple,” snickered Draco, then he stopped suddenly. “Why vanilla?”  
Harry sighed. “Well, growing up my cousin always got the treats and I got the basket of dirty laundry. He refused to finish his vanilla ice cream one night because we’d run out of chocolate, so I got to taste it before I washed the dishes.”  
“Save me the sob story Potter,” said Malfoy.  
“Knew I shouldn’t have told you that,” said Harry, somewhat quieter. Draco noticed, but let the moment pass.  
At that moment, Ron and Hermione flooed into the living room, then proceeded to the kitchen.  
“Do you live in a house or a fucking hotel Potter?” cried Draco.  
“So, you’re not dating . . ?” observed Hermione tentatively.  
“They’re making pasta though,” noted Ron.  
“No, only Harry is making the pasta. That’s not usual. And they’re on opposite ends of the bench when I imagine if they were together, they’d want to be physically closer to each other. The use of surnames is also rather impersonal,” explained Hermione.  
“Yeah, but that could be some kind of fucked up kinky thing,” suggested Ron.  
“Cheers Ron,” said Harry drily.  
“Why did Ginny say it was true?” asked Ron.  
“Ginny?” exclaimed Harry.  
“Ginny heard from Luna who was told by Neville who had been discussing it with Dean who said he got it from the source,” spluttered Ron.  
“Well, if the Daily Prophet is to be believed, I think you should be well over Ginny by now Potter,” sneered Draco.  
“Oh shut up Malfoy,” snapped Harry.  
Hermione had wandered over to where Draco was sitting, and picked up the sheets they had been filling out.  
“Are you . . . engaged in a false relationship?” she asked hesitantly. She looked down at the sheets again, keen to absorb as much information about this unusual relationship as possible. “Harry I didn’t know autumn was your favourite season.”  
“Quidditch begins. And it meant school going back,” Harry said as he set the pasta dough, which needed to sit for an hour. “Look,” he said, and he tossed Hermione a letter he had received earlier that day, one thanking him for his brave, unjudgmental choices. “I have plenty, all like that.”  
Hermione finished the letter and handed it to Ron. They both understood the importance of this relationship.  
“How long will it last? The relationship,” she demanded.  
“Oh . . . um,” began Harry, but Hermione cut him off.  
“Why will you break up? How will you keep it public but retain your love of privacy? Who gets to know it’s fake? What will you say when people ask how you got together? What if one of you falls for someone else? What if your secret gets leaked?” she spat, all in a frenzied breath.  
“Okay,” said Harry, his brain suddenly whirling. “Okay, we need a plan. Ron, Hermione – feel like pasta tonight?”  
“We need wine, and we need Pansy,” said Draco. “I assume you wouldn’t be cultured enough to possess anything nice Potter?” Draco sighed. “I’ll owl Pansy and Daphne, then floo to the Manor and pick something up. Looks like we’re having our very first dinner party. Charming.”  
As Draco left, Hermione grabbed some paper and began furiously creating blank charts and lists, mapping out the fake relationship. Harry returned to his cooking, beginning to slice vegetables for the pasta sauce, and Ron just plonked himself at the bench.  
“Harry,” he began. “You know, if you and Malfoy were really . . . well, we wouldn’t mind. I mean I know he’s Malfoy but –“  
Harry cut him off. “We’re not. No. Never.”  
Ron just nodded and they all continued in silence.

Draco arrived with the wine only minutes before the infestation of Pansy’s good cheer, with a chipper Daphne by her side. The moment Pansy saw Hermione’s charts it was as though they had never fought during their Hogwarts years and the three girls dashed into one of the guest bedrooms to chat properly.  
“I’m assuming we’re on the same page, am I correct?” asked Pansy with a giggle.  
“I rather expect so,” replied Hermione, suppressing a grin. “How has no one ever noticed what an opportunity this was before. They’re perfect for each other. And they have absolutely no clue.”  
“Pans, show her the compatibility charts!” squeaked Daphne, and Pansy pulled some parchment out of her shimmery purse, flattering them on the floor.  
“I’ve been drawing these up for the next issue of Witch Weekly, but mostly I thought of this article just to make it obvious to Draco,” Pansy explained with pride.  
The chart was divided into lifestyle and personality, with sections for similarities, clashes and ‘opposites attract.’ Some features, such as passion for Quidditch and their sarcastic humours were obvious benefits, but Pansy had already gone to intricate detail, even marking unexpected attributes, such as a mutual dislike of superstition and pink.  
“I would say the most obvious issue is Potter’s dressing choices, and Draco will pick that out first,” suggested Daphne and the others murmured in agreement.  
“He does have some nice clothes – neat jeans, fitted jumpers etc – but he chooses not to wear them . . .” shared Hermione, before an idea popped into her brain. “Pansy – may I call you Pansy? Well, you could run an article in Witch Weekly ranking some of Harry’s outfits, so then perhaps he will understand how to dress better.”  
“Except not yet!” cried Pansy. “We’ll do it when he’s getting a bit more interested and self-conscious. Ooh you are clever!”  
Hermione flushed pink and grinned.  
“Actually,” said Daphne, “Hermione is a good source on Potter, the things we haven’t been able to find through old interviews. We’ve got all these blanks.” She gestured to some more complicated sections, detailing the boys’ interest in having a family and future job prospects.  
“Children, yes he was an only child – like Malfoy, I see that there. Hates ministry parties too, that’s how this all began. London living or country living . . . hmm – I don’t know if he knows actually. We’ll work on that,” said Hermione as she scribbled notes.  
The three girls worked in conjunction on their charts until Ron called them for dinner and they quickly hide their parchment back in Pansy’s purse.

The intoxicating aroma of the pasta blended mid-air with the rich wine provided by Draco. In any other circumstances, they could have simply been a group of friends enjoying a Sunday dinner.  
After a dinner filled with polite small talk, Potter brought a tea tray into the living room and Daphne prepared to explain the timeline of their relationship.  
As Potter carried in the tray, his jumper sleeves pushed up and muscled, auror forearms on view, Draco did have to admit there was something slightly attractive about him. It wasn’t rugged as Pansy had so kindly suggested that morning but . . . homely. His hair was always scruffy, so typically Potter. There was a slight glow to his tan cheeks. Perhaps it was the wine, but in Draco’s knowledge of Potter, more likely than not he was embarrassed by the situation. He was so pathetically awkward.  
Potter gave Draco a slight smile, just the corners of his mouth turning upwards but cheekily so as he witnessed Hermione impose a last minute adjustment to the parchment. Were he and Potter friends now? He had enjoyed the dinner really. And being in Potter’s company wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d always imagined it would be.  
As Potter leant over to pour the tea, Draco noticed his back arched perfectly and that smooth golden skin of his forearms was visible once more. Auror training could be the only explanation for Potter’s increase in muscles since the war.  
Daphne explained the locations of public dates – certain cafes on particular weekends according to where they would be in their relationship, photographs choosing vegetables at a market one morning to feed Potter’s love of cooking. There were more uncomfortable parties to attend together and even a possible weekend getaway.  
“What?” Potter had exclaimed with disgust.  
“It’s not like you haven’t got the gold,” defended Hermione.  
“We’d have to share a hotel room. We’d have to share a bed!” he cried.  
Draco didn’t consider himself so repulsive to have attained such a reaction, but the thought of having to share a bed with Potter was unappealing.  
For an instant, the thought of a muscled near-naked Potter sitting on a hotel bed, with that coy half-smile on his face flashed into Draco’s mind.  
Evidently, the wine was a little stronger than he’d recalled. That was hardly something he’d want to see.  
As years of Hogwarts bickering had taught him, the easiest way to clear his mind was to taunt Potter. And co.  
“None of this will work,” stated Draco.  
Hermione glared at him. “And why’s that?” she demanded.  
“Because” he spelled out cockily, “no one wants to believe that Saint Potter, hero of the wizarding world, left his lovely little girlfriend because he’s interested in men.”  
A heavily silence consumed the room.  
“Draco, that was a while ago. And it’s not as – as linear as that . . .” muttered Daphne, hesitant not to break the suffocating silence.  
Potter, who had been staring intently at the coffee table, quietly said “it’s true though,” and promptly stood up and walked out of the room.  
Draco had not been anticipating that.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco didn’t hear from Potter on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday but Potter was frequently mentioned in his presence. At work, people continually congratulated him on his relationship, and were keen to know the origin story. As per the suggestion of Daphne, only those present at 12 Grimmauld Place on Sunday were permitted to know the truth about the relationship, so he told co-workers that they had re-met at a ministry party, and were encouraged to get together by their friends, namely Hermione, Daphne and Pansy, who had become closer in their post Hogwarts years. In a way, it was all true. But the relationship wasn’t, so he found it odd when he missed Potter’s sarcasm and grin.  
By Tuesday afternoon the rest of the International Magical Office of Law knew the details, and provided the story to co-workers in other departments. The word of mouth was so successful that the story was published, yet again by Rita Skeeter, in Wednesday’s Daily Prophet.  
On Thursday, Draco was informed he had a delivery and opened the carton that had arrived on his desk whilst he was in a meeting. It contained a copper pot, self-heating, filled with steamy risotto. Inside a note read:  
‘Apologies about a bad end to the night  
Let me make it up to you -  
How does dinner at mine tonight sound?  
Your lunch can be your incentive  
You can hardly say no when you’re so hopelessly in love with me  
Harry’  
Draco grinned. He was getting the greatest lunch he’d had in ages, and Potter couldn’t even hide his sarcasm on a public letter. Typical.  
Draco’s colleague Terry Boot saw him grinning and grabbed the letter out of his hand.  
“The Prophet wasn’t kidding then – someone is in love. Ooh Merlin that smells good. Tell me if you break up with Potter. I want a homemade lunch like that delivered to my desk,” said Terry, before he pinned the note to the staff notice board and winked at Draco.

“What do you even do Potter?” asked Draco. “Do you really just hang around the house all day cooking?”  
Draco and Harry had finished their dinner, and despite the insults, Draco honestly believed he was having an enjoyable time. Or perhaps it was because of the insults. They were so . . . Potter. It’s just what they did. But now it seemed as though the bitterness had left their relationship.  
Potter shrugged in response. “We’re reforming the Auror Department. Reducing pre-war corruption. So I’m not out on the field. Just . . . doing stuff at home.”  
“But do you do anything?” questioned Draco.  
“Yeah,” said Harry, non-committedly. “Send plans and papers to the minister. Then my reforms are implemented and I get a report on their success, so I can proceed or redo. I’m kind of viewed as an expert on reducing dark arts,” he added with a grin.  
“So . . . you occasionally do some work. You cook. Is that your whole life?” challenged Draco.  
Harry laughed sadly. “Yeah,” he responded. “Friday night is friends’ night. Someone hosts dinner at their place. You should come tomorrow. We’re all going to Dean and Seamus’s house.”  
“Wow, sounds fantastic Potter,” responded Draco drily, then he sighed and changed tone. “I’ll come.”  
“Good,” said Harry.  
Draco felt he had Potter in a good place for further inquiry. Neither had mentioned Harry’s odd behaviour on Sunday, nor Draco’s taunting that had led to it. But having complimented his dinner and agreed to spend an evening with Potter’s friends, he decided to press further.  
“Will Weasley be there?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice casual but aware it was slightly hitched in the attempt. “I mean, Ginny?”  
Potter sighed. “Not this,” he grumbled bitterly.  
“You can’t just send me in like a pig for slaughter. Do you want everyone to guess this isn’t real? Let down the wizarding world? If we were really in love, as everyone seems to believe, I’d know all about your past,” Draco declared and he was pleased with himself. It all sounded rather reasonable and masked his own curiosity.  
“Fine,” Harry conceded. “What do you want to know?”  
Draco couldn’t believe his luck. He had been expecting titbits of information and instead he had free range to anything he wanted.  
“Okay . . . why did you go for her?” he asked.  
“She was funny, clever, a good quidditch player,” replied Harry.  
“Did you ever have sex?” queried Draco.  
“Yes.”  
“Why did you break up?”  
“I think we may have already established this Malfoy,” snapped Harry.  
“Yes, but I would like to hear it . . . properly.” Malfoy played with the words in his mouth, pulling them apart and releasing them slowly as he toyed with Potter’s feelings. He was taunting, he knew he was taunting, but he enjoyed it. He liked to watch Potter squirm.  
Potter looked Draco in the eye and swallowed. “Ginny and I began dating when I was 16. The following year I was away. We got back together but I was still very unknowledgeable about love and attraction. One day, we were having a row. It wasn’t even a big fight or anything but then Ginny blurted out that I wasn’t even attracted to her and I was just doing as everyone, myself included, expected me to do. I disagreed. We continued as we had. I kept thinking about her comment. I tried harder to be interested.”  
Harry suddenly stopped. Draco was sweating he was so interested. He hadn’t realised until then that he was gripping his knees under the table.  
“And . . .” Draco prompted.  
“And then came the most humiliating experience of my life. Ginny came over one day with a muggle television and video player. She made me sit on the couch. She put on a tape. It was porn. Gay porn. And I got hard. Really hard. Really fast. I had never been so turned on in my life. And Ginny looked at my crouch and asked whether I wanted to tell Ron or should she.”  
Silence filled the room. Draco noted Harry was flushed with embarrassment.  
“We told everyone I’d just realised. Never had the time to think about it until the war was over. No one needed to know,” he added. Draco understood this as a warning not to share this story.  
But he was very, very pleased Potter had confided in him.  
“Oh shut up Malfoy,” snapped Harry.  
“I don’t recall saying anything,” quipped Draco.  
“I can . . . sense you judging me. Pathetic Potter, has to get his girlfriend to tell him he’s gay. I don’t expect playboy Malfoy to understand,” spat Harry.  
And with that, Draco fell into peels of hysterical laughter.  
When he finally regained his breath, he was still wheezing and had to cough before he could get the words out.  
“Been reading the Daily Prophet have you Potter?” he joked. “’Playboy Malfoy.’” He began to laugh hysterically again, while Potter glared at him. “Playboy Malfoy spotted carrying shopping for bossy friend Pansy Parkinson. Playboy Malfoy seen buying lunch for friend Daphne Greengrass to congratulate her on her promotion. Playboy Malfoy photographed spending time with Astoria Greengrass after she was stuck in St Mungos for a month. Really Potter, you believe Skeeter’s bullshit?”  
Harry was possibly more humiliated than before. His cheeks were positively rosy and yet again Draco was distracted by an awful thought. Is this how Potter looks turned on? He tried to cleanse his mind – he hardly wanted to think about Potter and sex in the same sentence, but all the same he found himself growing a little warmer, and his hands began to sweat.  
“I’d . . . just never heard of you having a steady girlfriend, that’s all,” explained Harry sheepishly.  
“Ah yes well, I think you’ll find there’s a good reason for that,” said Draco. “I’m simply too attractive for most women to handle.”  
Harry burst out laughing. He was actually enjoying Malfoy’s company. There were miracles in the world.  
“So you are . . . um . . .” began Harry.  
“Gay Potter. Gay. Yes. You sound like a virgin. It’s your predicament too,” said Draco.  
“I wouldn’t say it’s a problem as such. Just . . . another thing. Anything that attracts public interest is annoying, and this has been doing just that of late,” explained Harry.  
“See Potter, you don’t have parents. So you don’t understand parental pressure. But I am the only Malfoy, so it is my job to carry on the Malfoy line. It’s a little difficult when vaginas repulse me,” said Draco.  
“Marry some poor unsuspecting girl. All the inbreeding in you purebloods will do the trick. Crabbe or Goyle got any sisters?” joked Harry.  
“Oh fuck off Potter,” drawled Draco. “And if the public is to be believed, I’m meant to be marrying you.”  
And for one split second, Harry thought how wonderful it would be to spend every night like this one, in the company of Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay,” said Hermione. “This is your first big test. So you’ve got to look relaxed, though perhaps if you’re too relaxed it in looks fake because you’d be a bit uncomfortable bringing a date to a friend dinner but you need to look relaxed with each other because according to the Prophet and the wizarding world of Britain you’ve been dating for a month so you know each other well but it’s still new –“

“Hermione, breathe. I’ve been to dinner with friends before,” interrupted Harry.

They were standing with Ron and Malfoy on the corner of the street where Dean and Seamus lived, reading to go in for Friday night dinner. Hermione had insisted they arrived early to regroup and plan, but thus far it had considered purely of Hermione rattling off anxieties whilst Ron and Harry tried to calm her.

“Er . . . Shall we go in?” asked Ron.

It was an awkward beginning to the night. Seamus, who was tremendously stubborn, struggled to accept Malfoy, remembering only the times he taunted Harry at Hogwarts. At moments when he was riling up, ready to challenge Draco, Seamus would be conveniently whisked away to help in the kitchen, or find his toes ‘accidently’ stepped on by Ginny, yet again. Despite her aid in silencing Seamus, Ginny was acting odd as well. Rather than be her usual, chatty self, Ginny sat quietly and observed Malfoy, which did not go unnoticed by him.

“Potter,” breathed Draco into Harry’s ear, “your girlfriend is watching me.”

“She’s just never seen me with someone else, that’s all. She’s protective,” Harry murmured back.

“Merlin Potter, your life is so sad,” replied Draco.

Neville, being Neville, tried his very best to engage Draco in conversation that he thought might interest him. Unfortunately, this involved herbology and the laws relating to the international export of Alihotsy trees.

Draco didn’t even have Potter for company, who at least he felt a bit more comfortable with, as it seemed Potter was the only of his friends who knew how to cook. It appeared that in this friendship group providing dinner meant providing butterbeer, a house and ingredients for Potter to cook with. As Harry grated cheese people wandered up to him and chattered, and Draco could understand why Potter so enjoyed cooking. He seemed positively homely, and it was like a family gathering, with everyone brought together by the food. 

Luna had joined Draco and Neville’s conversation, and whatever it had been to begin with, it certainly wasn’t now. Draco wasn’t even certain what they were discussing, but the pair were fascinated by the conversation. 

From the across the room came a cry:   
“Malfoy!”

Potter had intended for Draco to come and help him with some slicing, to save him from another strained conversation. What he hadn’t anticipated was the silence that followed, as the entire room froze.

Draco was surrounded in gazing eyes, brows wrinkled and tight mouths. Only Granger went white, aware of what was suddenly at stake as she subtly gripped the table.

“Harry, why do you call him Malfoy?” asked Neville in concerned confusion.

Harry paused and genuinely thought. Though he and Malfoy weren’t really dating, they were still friends, weren’t they? At least, they enjoyed each other’s company for the most part, and that was friendship. And Harry knew how much he pepped up knowing he would see Malfoy that night, or receiving a clipping from Malfoy regarding the latest Daily Prophet instalment on their relationship.

“I don’t know,” confessed Harry honestly. “Old habits die hard I guess.”

“C’mon mate,” said Ron. “I told you to leave this kinky shit at home.”

And at once the life returned to the party as Ron’s joke infested everyone with laughter, as well as any giggling charm. 

Harry slapped Ron on the back to privately convey his thanks.

“You certainly never called Gin ‘Weasley’ when you were together,” taunted Dean.

“Hard to be sure which one he’d be calling out for,” added Seamus cheekily.

“I don’t want to hear this,” said Ron as Ginny began to cry with laughter.

“Bill,” Harry said proudly.

“Arthur,” Draco coughed.

Ron just covered his eyes as he laughed, but suddenly the room had warmed up, and Draco found himself chatting International League Quidditch with Ginny and Seamus, with Dean topping up his butterbeer and he felt the warmth of the group that he’d always been so envious of at Hogwarts.

Later in the evening, they sprawled around the living room, piled onto couches and cushions on the floor.

“Ron and Hermione, I think you’re next,” said Seamus. 

“But we don’t even have a place to live right now!” exclaimed Hermione.

“Yeah, let’s do it at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley can cook,” said Harry.

“I can’t imagine you watching someone else in the kitchen and managing to stay in your seat. You practically follow anyone who wanders into a kitchen to get themselves a glass of water,” claimed Dean.

“I think by next week we’ll have moved back into the spare room at George’s actually,” said Hermione and sighed. “Oh I hate house hunting.”

“I’ll do it,” offered Harry.

“Harry you do host rather often,” said Luna.

“Yeah but look in his eyes. He secretly loves doing it. Gets to boss us around without restraint,” joked Ron.

“Alright, Harry’s it is,” determined Dean.

Neville, who had been quiet this whole conversation suddenly spoke up. “I have something to say,” he stated.

“Is it along the lines of ‘Grimmauld Place is too cold?’” asked Ginny.

“No,” said Neville, and they all shut up. “I would like to tell you, that I think I’ve met someone.” Everyone leaned in. Hermione’s hand was clamped over her mouth and her eyes filled with joyous tears. “Well, not met,” Nevile stumbled. “I mean, I already knew but now it’s like a re-meet, like I met them again – anyway. It’s different now.”

Everyone held their breath in suspense. Who could possibly be good enough for sweet Neville.

The silence continued until Dean asked, “Are you going to tell us who?”  
“Oh, right,” said Neville, now flushing red. “Hannah Abbott.”

The group was ecstatic, and cheers and congratulations came from all around the living room.

“Isn’t this nice?” reflected Luna. “We’re all finding someone, regaining normal lives. This is what we would be doing if we hadn’t lived through the war, and I’m glad we still all got the chance to have ordinary lives.”

Draco was a little touched that Luna had included him, frequently meeting his eye as she spoke.

“Where’s Rolf at the moment?” asked Hermione.

“Norway,” replied Luna, a little sadly.

“So, Longbottom and Abbott,” whispered Draco to Harry, attempting to catch up on the group configuration. “Finnigan and Thomas, Lovegood and her mythical Rolf, Granger and Weasley –“

“I mean, they are married, so I’d kind of hope so,” whispered Harry back, and Draco’s mouth twitched revealing a small smile.

“Young Weasley?” asked Draco.

“I think you’d find it easier if you called everyone by their first names,” muttered Harry.

“Fine. Ginny?” questioned Draco again.

“Blaise. He’s in the US for a while though, so no dinners with him,” replied Harry.

“Zabini?” Malfoy cried.

“Ah so you gossip about everyone else Harry, but no one’s allowed to gossip about your relationship. That right,” challenged Ginny.

“I think the Daily Prophet does a pretty mighty good job at gossiping about us,” said Draco.

“So you don’t really have a very good reason to hide then, do you?” said Ginny. “Come on, stop being weird because you think we all find it weird. Just cuddle up a bit, or look at least less uncomfortable.”

Yet again, Hermione went white.

Draco shuffled closer to Harry on the couch, and Harry wrapped his arm around Draco, initially intending to remain like that, then accidently knocking Draco so he had his head pressed on Harry’s chest. Unable to express that this was entirely new to them, Harry and Draco simply had to pretend that was this original aim.

Draco began to breathe heavily and sweat with the stress of it all. He could feel his temperature rising in embarrassment.

Only it wasn’t embarrassment, Draco soon realised. 

He was aroused.

Oh, Merlin.

“C’mon, give him a kiss!” Seamus called out and the rest of the group giggled. Ron clutched Hermione’s hand.

Draco felt like he was going to faint.

Harry nuzzled Draco’s head with his nose for effect, then slowly and gently pressed his lips into Draco’s hair. The surprising scent of apples – probably acquired through Draco’s variety of expensive hair products – filled Harry’s nose, and he was felt even more intoxicated than before. Drunk on this sensation, the air was heavy and stifling, and Harry found it hard to breathe as he moved his head back up.

The moment had stretch on forever, but in reality had only lasted a few seconds.

“Bullshit!” cried out Seamus, and Harry hoped he only had the excuse of being tipsy. “Give him a kiss on the lips!”

Harry felt Draco’s body tense in his arms for a second, before he shifted up, leaving the two men facing each other, eye to eye, nose to nose. If only they’d bloody practiced, then they wouldn’t be in such a mess now. Harry’s breaths became shallower and shallower as he moved closer to Draco, until their noses were centimetres apart and he could smell Draco as surely as he believed Draco could smell him. He closed his eyes, and his scent was accentuated. The world was black – there was no crowd of eager friends, nor the green lamp beside him, only Draco. Harry pressed his lips onto Draco’s softly and felt the softness returned as his chest thudded.

His eyes opened to reality, where his friends were laughing and cheering, and Seamus was declaring that romance wasn’t dead, and it was clear they were in love. Hermione clutched Ron’s hand and smiled at him weakly, in relief – but Draco stared at Harry with disbelief.

In that moment, there was only one thing Harry knew for certain: He had a crush on his boyfriend.


	5. Chapter 5

“Thanks again!” called out Harry as he and Draco left the house. Harry was buzzed – he felt so energetic he wanted to reorganise his library or go on a run – or anything really, since he was positively swimming in energy. He has kissed Malfoy. Kissed him. And in this moment Harry hadn’t noticed Draco silently seething beside him all evening, nor the strange looks Hermione had been giving him. He was on a high.

Harry pulled his coat tighter as they left the sanctuary of the warm house for the cold London street. The plan was for he and Draco to walk around the corner before apparating their separate ways, as most people thought they would be spending the night together. It was a simple plan and should have been completed within a few minutes, if it were not for the mood that had settled over Draco. 

“Well,” said Harry, grinning. “Night Malfoy! Thank you for coming, I had a brilliant time!” The energy seeped into Harry’s voice – everything about him was buzzing and glowing.

Malfoy was not.

“Yep. Night Potter,” he mumbled in return.

“Malfoy! What’s wrong?” Harry asked, agitated and concerned.

“Wrong? What’s wrong?” spat Draco. “I spent my Friday night being groped by you in front of your friends. I want out Potter. I’m not doing this anymore.”

Harry was stunned, and felt pounding in his stomach. 

“But the wizarding world . . .” he stammered.

“Fuck the wizarding world. You’re their saviour, not me.”

And with that, Draco apparated away, leaving Harry standing alone on the sidewalk.

***

“No packed lunch?” asked Terry as Malfoy pulled out his sandwich on Tuesday. It was the second day he’d done so, and the looks he’d been receiving were worrying. He was certain there would be an article about the relationship difficulties faced by the couple, but today he didn’t have the energy to care. He was too busy putting up with everyone’s sympathy, and he hadn’t said anything. 

“A sandwich is a packed lunch,” retorted Malfoy, but instead of cracking a joke as Terry usually would, he just gave Draco a sad smile then returned to his own desk. 

***

On Wednesday, Terry brought some of the leftover quiche his wife had made for Draco. The secretary dropped a chocolate frog on his desk, and even one of the guys in magical maintenance offered Draco half of his lasagne. But Draco turned it all down, in favour of his sandwich. If he was going to be miserable, he may as well do it properly.

The morning post arrived, and with it one of Potter’s infamous packages. It was brought to Draco’s desk by the secretary with shining eyes and a crowd of people behind her, all desperate to see Draco’s reaction. He was certain one of the girls down the back was crying with joy. He gave them a small smile and waited until they left before finally opening it. 

Draco wanted to grin – to stand on his desk and whoop in relief and he wasn’t even sure why. He was angry with Potter – right? But right now, all he could think was thank Merlin.

The scent of a delicious meal, far more appealing than his sandwich, filled the office straight away, but before even registering what it was, Draco erratically searched for the note. It read:

M  
Saw the Prophet this morning  
We aren’t doing this (yet at least)  
Coffee Thursday morning? Put on a show  
And if you come early to mine on Friday we can chat properly  
H

It was slightly cold, but it was contact, and a delicious meal.

So Draco was satisfied once more, and felt a weigh pressing on his chest, that he hadn’t even realised was there, begin to lift.

***

It seems the ‘it’ couple of the wizarding world are reunited once more, and we can all breathe again. Spotted Thursday morning in a muggle coffee shop in Islington, not far from Potter’s inherited home, the pair were seen enjoy a drink together. This comes after a rocky week in their relationship, with no other outings noted, as well as reports of a lack of communication between everyone’s favourite couple. A co-worker of Malfoy’s at the Ministry reported that he gets a hot lunch delivered every day, which is cooked by Potter and includes a loved-up note. “When we didn’t see any lunch for two days, we knew there were problems in the relationship,” she claimed. 

The source of this rocky period is unknown, though it is suggested that Potter refused to meet his boyfriend’s mother, leading to some cross words and the break. It has also been noted that this serious relationship has possibly moved too fast for playboy Malfoy, leading him to request a break while he accepts that he may be in love for the first time in his life.

Naturally, the whole wizarding world will be relieved to note the photos taken at their morning coffee date, where Potter’s loving expression and smiles couldn’t be mistaken for anything but love. Having being raised by muggles, Potter handled the transaction, ordering a latte for himself and a green tea for Malfoy, communicating with few words – their glances and obvious understanding of each other’s desires and needs was all that the wizarding world require to see the strength of this relationship and the intimacy between the two wizards. Coffee may be one hopeful step, but what we all really want to know is – will there be a wedding anytime in the future?

By Rita Skeeter, Senior Journalist at The Daily Prophet


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was in the midst of preparing a feast on Friday afternoon. He knew his friends liked their comfort food, but this Friday was different. Because he intended to make all the foods he knew Malfoy would like as a little gesture of apology.

Not that Harry actually knew what he’d done wrong.

Did he get too into the kiss, and freak Malfoy out? But they were meant to – there was no point everyone finding out they were faking it.

Perhaps his friends were a little too much for Malfoy? Harry had asked Draco to invite Pansy and Daphne as well tonight, so he certainly hoped that the issue would be resolved, if that were the issue in the first place.

They had been doing so well, and now Harry’s crush had him all tied up in knots, flushing and grinning like a teenager. And now he couldn’t stop checking the clock, waiting for Malfoy to arrive.

Long last, at 5:30pm Malfoy strolled into the kitchen, still dressed in his neat grey slacks and blazer from work. He placed the bottles of wine he’d brought onto the kitchen bench and gave Harry a small smile.

“Playboy Malfoy, gracing us with his presence,” said Harry and raised his eyebrows while Malfoy laughed.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve been reading Skeeter Potter, or I’ll have to write in and tell her you’re such a fan of her work,” Malfoy warned with a grin.

Harry suddenly felt an urge to wrap his arms around Malfoy’s waist and kiss him, even if only on the cheek. In that moment, he could only imagine that this would be what it would be like to live with Malfoy – Harry at home, preparing dinner when Malfoy comes home from work. Harry was certain he flushed as red as his jumper at this thought, so looked down at the vegetables he was slicing to hide his shame.

“She’d kidnap me. I’m surprised she hasn’t already thought of it. Imagine all the juicy secrets I could share whilst being tortured,” said Harry.

“Mmm, like why you won’t meet my mother,” added Malfoy and this time it was Harry’s turn to laugh.

“That is such bullshit! I’ve met your mother – she doesn’t even live in the country.”

“You can’t argue with Rita,” shrugged Malfoy.

They settled into their comfortable routine. This is what Harry liked, and he only wished he knew how to guarantee it for all times. 

“So you know last Friday –“ began Harry, but he was abruptly cut off.

“Don’t Potter,” said Malfoy.

Harry sighed quietly to himself. The whole point of Malfoy’s early arrival was to sort it out, and now Malfoy was just being the usual prick.

Harry found he didn’t have time to mull on it as his guests began to arrive, all piling out of his fireplace one after another. Like the robot he could be, Malfoy made the instant switch from moody to cheerful guest, welcoming Harry’s guests into his kitchen. Pansy and Hermione instantly found each other, grabbed Daphne and started chatting in the corner whilst Dean got behind the bench to serve butterbeer. The warmth had been brought to the party, but Harry and Malfoy found excuses to ignore each other as Harry chatted without ever slowing his cooking, and Malfoy joined Ginny and Seamus’s weekly Quidditch discussion. 

Malfoy’s wine was delicious and intoxicating when they finally opened it and everyone stuffed themselves with Harry’s French food selection.

“Let me guess,” asked Seamus, flushed pink and slightly slurring after his excessive consumption of alcohol. “Draco likes French food.”

“Yes. Yes I do,” replied Draco, looking over at Harry suspiciously as Harry looked down at his plate.

“Mmm,” responded Seamus. “Well now I like you.”

The evening proceeded with considerable more wine, and by the time everyone had finished their soufflé, Seamus was drunk.

“Harry,” began Dean, looking over at Seamus, “do you think we might –“

“Sure,” responded Potter, but Draco but puzzled.

“Well actually –“ started Hermione but Harry just rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Yes, yes, everyone’s welcome,” he resigned.

“Welcome to what?” asked Draco.

“Stay over. They usually do. Too many empty rooms here anyway.”

“I suppose Draco will be staying over too,” said Luna, completely obvious to the discomfort her comment caused.

Ginny laughed as Harry flushed.

“Merlin, look at you!” she exclaimed. “It’s really like you’d never heard of sex before. Blimey, it’s not like we’re all scandalised.”

Harry just cleared his throat and averted Ginny’s eyes.

“Are you staying too? I haven’t got any sheets on your usual bed right now, but if you give me a moment it won’t be hard,” explained Harry.

“No, I have training first thing,” said Ginny.

Daphne and Pansy decided they would head home too, and Luna tried to explain something she needed to be at home for, but no one quite understood what it was.

“Neville?” asked Harry, but Neville just went as red, if not redder, as Harry had before.

“I’ve got lunch with Hannah’s dad, so I think I’d be better off well rested,” he mumbled, and Seamus gave him a massive smack on the back, which caused Neville to cough and trip forwards.

After a long and laboured departure (particularly as Seamus drunkenly farewelled each person three times) the remaining few settled into Harry’s living room in comfortable silence, exhausted from their night. Harry brought in the tea and Hermione looked as though she could fall asleep in her cup. Eventually Dean dragged Seamus to their usual room, and apologised for not helping clean up.

“Mate,” said Ron. “I think you have the harder job,” to which Dean smiled then dashed off to find Seamus attempting to get up the stairs alone.

Harry and Ron’s weak cleaning charms were instantly put in their place when Draco’s superior spell work sorted out the dishes in mere seconds. Hermione lay on the couch, nearly asleep.

“Have you ever shared a bed?” whispered Ron to Harry.

“No,” Harry admitted and felt his gut swirl. He was an idiot for not realising it was likely people would stay over if he hosted, and felt bad that Malfoy was now roped into sharing a bed with him. He could hardly sleep elsewhere, in case Seamus or Dean saw. Harry wondered if he could transfigure a mattress for Malfoy to sleep in at the foot of his bed, but he realised this too was a risky move.

Ron nodded solemnly then squeezed Harry shoulder in solidarity. He carefully shook the sleeping Hermione awake, who appeared so small when curled up on the sofa, her large personality at rest, then guided her up the stairs.

Harry and Draco stood at the base of the stairs, watching in admiration. The unspoken words hung between them, but both were in admiration of the care and understanding between Ron and Hermione, as well as jealous at their ease. How lucky they were to be so in love, they thought.

Malfoy sighed.

“Well Potter, lead the way,” he said and when Harry didn’t move he added, “I know there are no other options. I reside to my fate.”

Harry lead Draco to his bedroom and opened the wooden door to reveal to white bed and roaring fire already warming up the otherwise chilly house. He had no doona cover on the bed, just a clean, simple doona, with a red quilt folded at the end of the bed.

Draco surveyed the room and noted the books stacked by the right of the bed.

“Good,” he stated. “I like the left.”

“Umm, feel free to any of my t-shirts,” said Harry, opened the second drawer to reveal his selection. Draco pulled out a white one on top and began to unbutton his shirt while Harry quickly closed his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Potter how old are you?” snarled Draco, but there was a lightness, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I just thought you might like your privacy,” stumbled Harry and Draco snorted.

“Every day my photo is splashed across the newspaper as I undertake menial activities as the whole wizarding world comments on my lifestyle, the corkboard in my office is now a tribute to our relationship, you’ve publicly groped me and now I’m going to sleep in your bed. I’m really not sure how much I care about privacy right now,” stated Draco. “Besides, you might have to identify my body after I’ve broken up with you some time down the line and Skeeter murders me for the story.”

Harry relaxed, laughed and opened his eyes. He couldn’t help but note Draco’s pale skin, the smooth and hairless chest being revealed with each button undone. Harry forced himself to focus on the conversation as a distraction.

“I think you may find that would be the role of your next of kin,” Harry responded.

“Oh I’m assuming this is some time after our Daily Prophet bonanza affair wedding, leading to an uncomfortable and loveless marriage that ends in divorce,” said Draco.

“I think Rita wants it sooner rather than later, so you better start working out to get that wedding body,” Harry joked and Draco looked down at his chest in mock scorn.

“Potter, are you saying I’m fat?” he challenged and Harry smirked.

“No no, not fat, just . . . a little on the weedy side is all,” said Harry, causing Draco to scoff.

“Like you could do any better,” he sneered. “Take off your shirt Potter,” Draco suddenly demanded.

“What?” asked Harry, completely startled.

“You heard me. Take it off. Prove that I’m weedy,” he insisted and Harry gave in, mock labouring over the event to torment Draco – slowly removing his glasses and placing them on the bed, pulling off the jumper and the t-shirt underneath as leisurely as he could bear.

Harry turned to face Draco and suddenly realised to oddness of the situation. Here he was, without a top and facing Malfoy, who at this point was only clad in boxers.

“Shit Potter,” said Draco in surprise. “You’re ripped.”

He wasn’t kidding. Harry’s auror training had lead to slight toning all over Harry’s now tanned body, the highlight of which was Harry’s six pack, which he had worked extremely hard to gain and was glad it was paying off now.

“Too right I am,” said Harry with mock pride. “Auror training was good for something.” And with this confidence, Harry ripped off his jeans and grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer which he quickly pulled on.

“I’m guessing you’re more of a matching silk pyjamas person,” asked Harry.

“Maybe,” he said, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“You are, aren’t you?” pushed Harry. Draco laughed and placed his head in his hands before conceding.

“Yes,” he responded, slightly embarrassed as his cheeks tinged pink.

Harry climbed into the bed, unsure of what to do next. It was awkward, there was no denying and now they were both too alert to sleep.

“Actually, who is your next of kin?” asked Harry, determining that if they talked until they were tired, it may be easier to deal with.

“My mother. Who else?” replied Draco, then thought for a moment. “Wait – who’s yours?”

“Ginny,” said Harry. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Still pining for her I see. You just can’t move on and find a proper relationship can you Potter?” he said, his voice filled with mock sympathy.

“The tragic orphan’s tale. Besides, I trust her. Who else should I choose?” asked Harry.

Draco came and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, you and Rita seem to be getting awfully close . . .” joked Draco and Harry hit him with his pillow. 

“Maybe we’ll have to invite her to one of our Fridays,” said Harry.

“Our Fridays? Have I been promoted to permanent guest?” quipped Draco.

“Well, you’re going to have to go to a fair few over the next few years. And then after . . . I mean why not? It’s fun. Everyone likes you. Ron better be bloody careful or Hermione will run off with Pansy they seem so in love and I’m always looking for more mouths to feed with my excellent cooking,” replied Harry. 

“Few years? You think we’ll keep this up for a few years?” asked Draco in astonishment.

“Who else are you going to date with your playboy status?” joked Harry.

“Shut up Potter. I mean, I won’t even be able to have sex because who wants to get in the middle of the famous couple in the wizarding world,” explained Draco.

“Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that,” said Harry.

“You probably weren’t getting any to begin with,” replied Draco, and was hit yet again by Harry’s pillow. “See? You couldn’t even respond to that because you know it’s true.” With that, Malfoy clambered over into the bed, next to Harry. 

“Aren’t we just the picture of domestic bless?” said Draco with a radiant, false smile. “Can’t you just imagine the article? At home with Draco and Harry. We’d need a photo of this, then you cooking dinner, maybe some of the kids playing with our dogs?”

“We have children?” asked Harry in surprise.

“Of course, didn’t you read Pansy’s article? We’re both only children with sheltered and cold upbringings, so a gaggle of children is a must,” Draco responded.

“In that case, don’t forget the candid shots of us painting the children’s bedrooms and teaching them to play quidditch,” said Harry.

“Reading them stories at night,” said Draco.

“Summer trips to visit your mother in France,” said Harry and Draco laughed.

“If I was married to a man, I hardly think I’d be welcome in my mother’s house,” said Draco.

Harry had been settling into his bed, lying down but suddenly sat up.

“Are you serious? But she loves you. Does she know you’re gay?” Harry stumbled erratically.

“No. No one gets the Daily Prophet in France. And conservative pureblood parents are a whole different world,” replied Draco.

“But–“ began Harry, but Draco shushed him.

“Go to sleep Potter,” said Draco.

When Draco was absolutely certain Harry was asleep, because he could hear his little murmured snores and watched his chest rise and fall slowly, Draco leant over and ever so gently, kissed Harry on the cheek, before sighing and going to sleep himself.


End file.
